


This Other Eden

by Smith



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Angst, M/M, Romance, Sex Pollen, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-25
Updated: 2013-01-20
Packaged: 2017-11-17 00:49:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/545685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smith/pseuds/Smith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Shuttlepod One crashes on a forest world, Malcolm and Jonathan discover this is not their typical first contact mission.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Green Fingers

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thanks to mareel for holding my hand every step of the way on this, for betaing, inspiring and generally keeping me from tearing my hair out. Compliments to tarheelladync and EntAllat for their beta services.

Malcolm lay awake, staring into the dark crevices of the high ceiling. The tangy fermented liquor they'd been served with dinner was still affecting him, though he'd only had a glass no bigger than his thumb. Contrary to intuition, it seemed Feyr liquor didn't make one drowsy so much as restless, but did offer the familiar buzzing sense of alcohol when one has had a little too much, yet not quite enough to be properly inebriated. Spirited, is how his father used to put it, usually when talking about his mother's sister, continuing with a joke or two about the irony of the name Sherry.

With a sigh, he turned onto his side and stared at the walls instead, the play of moonlight and shadow forming patterns on the carvings that reminded him of the waves on Earth's oceans. The imagery soothed and frightened him, in his half-awake, half-drunk state. He really needed to rest; he knew this intellectually, but his body wasn't decided and his brain was completely averse. There were parts of him that were certainly more awake than others, like his dick, half-hard, under the warm sheets.

The silky fabric snagged on his sweaty feet and between his legs, but slipped distractingly along the insides of his thighs. He wondered how his Captain was sleeping, but that made his cock stiffen completely. Turning onto his back, he rubbed himself lazily until he came. That seemed to ease some of the buzz, and the next time he closed his eyes, his imagination led him off on a merry dance toward sleep.

Instead of ornate Feyr woodwork, the following morning Malcolm opened his eyes to a tilted view of the shuttlepod. At the helm he could see Archer stirring, and across from him he noticed the limp, twisted body of their guide. Her eyes were open, but her mouth was closed, lips pale and drained.

Stumbling over, Malcolm checked her as best he could in his half-consciousness, hands fumbling. It seemed her neck had been broken in the crash, at least as far as he could tell. Glancing around, Malcolm had to assume they'd crashed, but where and how was another matter.

Archer stirred. "Malcolm?" he asked.

Malcolm straightened when his Captain called his name, the way he said it having always narrowed his focus straight toward the man. "Yes, sir?"

"What happened?"

"God knows, sir," he replied, climbing through the cabin to reach the controls. "Everything is fri-"

Malcolm's ill-conceived movement elicited a groan outside the pod, followed by the high-pitched squeal of the metal scraping against something. It leaned one way and Malcolm caught a glimpse of leaves out of the hatch viewport. Then the trees groaned again, a branch snapped, and he just managed to climb into a seat and grab a handhold before the pod succumbed to gravity and they clattered down through the tree branches.

Malcolm was flung backwards as the shuttle landed on the thrusters, only for it to fall forwards and throw him face-first at the console. A dull pain sparked and began to grow on the fringe of his awareness, a burst of light going supernova in his head, expanding too fast, like a tsunami rushing toward the shore. Panic tightened around his lungs. He'd be consumed, he couldn't do anything, he'd be burned away in an instant.

Pain exploded behind his eyes, blinding, deafening, overwhelming, becoming everything. A wave of dizziness rushed in to drag him away, so he clung to consciousness with the same white-knuckled determination that was keeping him upright. Black ink soaked into the space left behind his eyes, blotting out the shuttle, his ragged breathing, and Archer's questions, until he floated alone in silence.

Eventually, he dimly felt someone pry his tense fingers from the console, his wrist throbbing where he'd attempted to brace himself, and pull his body out of the chair. The world spun, then stilled abruptly.

Archer said his name, but it sounded wrong, as if he were underwater. The thought that they might be anywhere near the sea sent a thrill of panic that startled him awake. He tried to sit up, but insistent hands pushed him down. Blearily, one eye focused on Archer's distorted face, examining him for injuries, noting he'd apparently avoided significant harm, probably owing to him being limp and half-awake at the time. Only after he'd assessed the state of his captain did he let the pain take over, sinking numbly back against the floor.

"Malcolm," Archer said more clearly.

"Sir?" Moving his mouth hurt, but the pain wasn't concentrated there. The shuttle was now quite still, apparently having hit the ground. His tongue burned with the taste of blood as it ran warm and thick into his mouth, making him gag. When his vision cleared enough to see further, he found his body lying out before him as if it belonged to someone else, unable to feel past his throbbing head.

Archer had evaporated, but he re-materialised after a few moments with the medical kit, running a scanner over him.

"Something is affecting all our electrical equipment," Archer muttered to himself, just loud enough for Malcolm to hear. "You've sprained your wrist pretty badly, as far as I can tell, your nose is broken and you've fractured an eye socket. I'll heal what I can with the dermal regenerator, but if we're not careful you could lose your vision, or worse."

Malcolm nodded vaguely, focusing on keeping breakfast down.

Breakfast. He remembered breakfast. They'd dined with Potentate Gryr in The Rebel City, before boarding the shuttle and making contact with the _Enterprise_ , journeying to the western forests of Il Teyr to meet the third of the Feyr clans. Jonathan and his most trusted advisor, for which Malcolm was an adequate substitute, had been given permission to travel with a guide to The Idle City and meet the final member of the Feyr Triumvirate.

"We're going to be late," he lamented. It was all he could think of to say.

"Well, yes," Archer muttered distractedly. "Let's think about that later."

"Okay, sir," Malcolm replied numbly.

Malcolm lay there examining Archer's face as he concentrated on healing some of the bruising. "You have a beautiful chin," he mumbled sometime after he heard the hiss of a hypospray and felt the beginning of relief.

Archer's brow furrowed. Malcolm hated that facial expression; he'd had far too much experience with that facial expression. He found himself mimicking the man, confused about what part of his statement had upset him.

"Thank you, Lieutenant," Archer muttered in bemusement.

Malcolm nodded slightly, but that triggered a wave of nausea he knew he couldn't push back, so he heaved himself onto one side and threw up an unflattering smear of crimson on his commanding officer's boot. Then the dizziness came back to claim him; he lay back and groaned, inky spots depriving him of sight.

"You're concussed, so I'm going to have to keep you resting, but entertained."

"Sir, I'm fine," he slurred.

"Of course you are," Archer said dryly, checking all the console equipment for a flicker of life. "You did just vomit on my shoe, so I'm not inclined to believe you, Lieutenant. Now rest, that's an order."

"Yes, sir," Malcolm murmured instinctively, before he let the tug of sleep persuade him to close his eyes.

Malcolm woke when Jonathan called his name, hastily looking about when he felt the brush of fingers on his cheek, only to see the man was several feet away and he'd obviously imagined it.

"It's okay," Archer said softly. "I'm just checking that you're still with us."

"Yes, sir. I'm not going anywhere. Present and reporting for duty."

Archer snorted softly. "I've given you something for the nausea, so let me know when you feel you could keep something down. We need to stay hydrated."

"Where are we? Do you have any idea?"

"No," he said quietly, with a tense edge. "I don't remember much of the crash and I can't get anything working long enough to retrieve any data."

"Do you need me to do anything, sir?" Malcolm contemplated trying to push himself up, but wasn't certain his limbs could support him.

"No, absolutely not. You stay right there and rest. I'm not letting anything happen to you, too."

Malcolm's gaze slid as far left as his eyes could manage, hearing Jonathan sit down on the other seat. "Have you been outside yet?"

"No." Archer sighed, glancing at the body of their guide he'd wrapped in a blanket. "But I should, at least to bury her. I don't even know if the Feyr bury their dead. We don't know anything about them." He roughly dragged a hand over his face. "I want to lay her to rest, but I don't know how. _Fuck_."

Malcolm's hand shot out, almost instinctively, but he couldn't quite reach him, even with his fingers outstretched. To his surprise, Jonathan's palm found his own and they clutched one another.

"They're plants, aren't they? They're made to return to the Earth. As long as we treat her respectfully..." Malcolm swallowed thickly and closed his eyes.

"Malcolm? Are you alright?"

Archer tightened his grip on Malcolm's hand, summoning him back. "Yes, sir?"

"Just checking you weren't slipping unconscious on me."

"No, just tired, sir."

"That's okay. You rest." He patted Malcolm's hand. "I'll let you know if anything changes."

"Thanks," Malcolm murmured, turning his head towards his companion and falling asleep again.

Archer woke him a few more times after that. During one waking episode he glimpsed the splatter of mud on the windscreen, obscuring most of the view, but then Archer opened one of the hatches to lay their guide very carefully outside and he saw bright flowers and trees in the shafts of light that fell through the canopy. Then it grew very dark, but Malcolm didn't know if night was falling or if his perception was skewed.

In the morning, Malcolm groaned as the ache in his head pierced what had been a pleasant dream, squirming onto his back as several more and pains clamoured for attention, his hips and back throbbing from sleeping on the uncomfortable bunk. He yawned, stretching through the agony, and cringed as he felt his underwear cling damply to his crotch.

With a frown, he unzipped his uniform and pushed a hand down towards his groin, avoiding the temptation to feed the inappropriate embers still burning low in his abdomen, finding his skin sticky as predicted.

"What are you doing?"

Malcolm's head snapped toward Jonathan so fast his vision blurred and he groaned, closing his eyes. Over the ringing in his ears, he heard Jonathan unfurl from the bunk and rummage in the medical kit, pressing another hypospray to his neck.

"Thanks," Malcolm murmured hoarsely, clearing his throat to loosen his voice a little. He rubbed his face, forgetting the sticky residue on his fingers and smearing it down his temple and cheek. "Damnit."

Jonathan chuckled and Malcolm glanced at him. "What's so funny?"

"Now you're covered in blood, vomit _and_ come." Jonathan shook his head.

Malcolm's brow furrowed, mortified by the situation and thoroughly perturbed by his Captain's response. "Sir?"

Jonathan cleared his throat, his expression abruptly falling into a deep frown. Malcolm was once again loath to be the cause of that look. As strange as the moment had been, he almost regretted ending it.

"I'm sorry," Jonathan said. "That was extremely inappropriate. Please forgive me." He immediately moved away to the pilot's seat and started fastidiously checking the console equipment again. "We've landed on the shore of a natural brook, hence the decorative window art." He gestured at the front viewport. "If you want some help, I think we could both use a bath."

"Yeah," Malcolm mumbled, voice still gravelly. "Do we have any water?"

"Yeah, of course." Jonathan rummaged around until he found a water pack, hooking an arm gently behind his neck to help Malcolm lift his bruised, aching head so he could drink.

"Finished?"

Malcolm nodded. "Can you give us a hand sitting up?" He grabbed hold of Jonathan's arms and used them to haul himself up, sinking back against the hull through a wave of dizziness.

A few seconds later he felt he could handle opening his eyes, only to find Archer crouching worriedly in front of him with his irises paling to a vague sea green.

"How bad is it?" He asked tentatively, struggling to draw in a breath as the air suddenly felt thicker between them.

Drawing away, Jonathan handed him a mirror. Malcolm winced, both at the loss and the subsequent sight of his reflection. The bridge of his nose had darkened to a spectacular shade of purple, radiating outwards in lightening hues of grey, blue and red, and there was still blood crusted around his lips. A disgusted noise gurgled somewhere at the back of his throat. "I look worse than I feel."

"Maybe I shouldn't tell you that it's half as bad today as it was yesterday. The dermal regenerator took care of a lot of the worst bruising."

"Thanks," Malcolm grumbled, sounding far less appreciative than he'd intended, and leaned forward to test the dizziness. "If it's clean out there, I'd be very grateful of a hand in reaching the water."

"Of course. Now?"

Malcolm nodded, grabbing a handhold above him and pulling himself to his feet. His head didn't like that; his ears started ringing again and an insistent pressure expanded in his sinuses. He felt one of Jonathan's hands rest on his shoulder, steadying him further, allowing him a few moments to find his balance.

"Thank you." Malcolm offered his Captain a brief smile. "I'd like to go outside."

The warm, sweet-smelling air of the forest embraced them as Jonathan helped him climb out of the shuttlepod. He found himself feeling that odd drowsy restlessness he'd associated with the liquor they'd been served the other night, soothed by their pleasant surroundings.

Then he sneezed, sending a twinge of pain echoing through his skull. "Damn. I think I might need an anti-histamine. Do we have any in the medical kit?"

Jonathan helped Malcolm sit on a low hanging branch near the water before returning to the pod and bringing him a hypospray. The dose quickly curtailed the growing tingle in the back of his throat.

"That should last a few days, at least," Jon murmured, unzipping his boots as he sat down.

Malcolm nodded. "Trust us to crash in the middle of hay fever season."

Jonathan smiled. "I hope you're not too allergic to anything here, the last thing you need is anaphylactic shock."

"I hope so too," he murmured, slowly stripping out of his uniform. "I think I need a little help to get my boots off. I fear I'll fall over if I try."

With a nod, Jonathan scooted closer and slipped Malcolm's boots and socks off, placing them beside his own. "Better?"

"Cheers." Malcolm wriggled out of his jumpsuit, leaving it crumpled on the ground like a shed skin, and shakily got to his feet.

Swaying dangerously, he called for Jonathan, finding his Captain's arms around him almost the instant the request left his mouth. He blinked, staring into Jonathan's eyes, which had darkened to a green-tinged hazel, the man's heady scent gathering in his nostrils, a bead of sweat trailing slowly down his temple. Forcing himself to focus, he braced himself against Jonathan's forearms and made his way into the water until he could sit and grant it his weight.

Jonathan undressed and joined him in the shallows, leaning back on his elbows. Malcolm dutifully avoided staring, closing his eyes in the mild sunlight. "The air here smells good."

Jonathan murmured in agreement, leaning his head back.

Malcolm ran his hands over his body, loosening the grime and the evidence of his libido, scooping water up to his face to gingerly remove the blood around his nose and mouth, finding the taste salty-sweet when a few droplets slipped onto his tongue. He hoped it was safe to drink; they'd run out of their water rations sooner or later.

Then they lingered in the warm water for a while, neither of them saying anything as they acclimatised to the forest and the situation, but Malcolm's determination to avoid looking at Archer slowly wore thin. Each stolen glance sent a little thrill through his lower abdomen, because Archer's body was so firm, inviting and beautiful, and because it was an illicit indulgence to gaze upon his exposed Captain. His cock hardened.

"We should bury Unya," Malcolm said, getting to his feet and steadily making his way back to the tree branch where'd he left his clothes, focusing on remaining upright and not making his predicament obvious. Archer followed and they got dressed quickly and quietly, not looking at each other.

Malcolm's problem had not gone away. If anything it had worsened to a near painful tension knotted in his groin, but he steadfastly ignored it; it was difficult enough walking in a straight line without worrying about hiding an erection. He opened his mouth to make certain Archer knew he would be helping to bury their guide, but when he glanced to him, his eyes caught on the same tension in the crotch of his uniform. Another thrill shot down his spine.

Their eyes met, and then darted away, making silent excuses not to address the issue. Clearing their throats simultaneously, they made their way back into the pod, Malcolm declining Jonathan's offer of help. He sat and gathered his strength while Archer found the survival kit.

With collapsible shovel in hand, Jonathan retrieved Unya's body and gently carried her a few yards into the forest where the undergrowth had thinned.

"Malcolm, you should rest," he admonished when Malcolm followed him determinedly, gait awkward and pace uneven.

"I'm doing this," Malcolm replied sharply, his jaw set.

Jonathan paused and then nodded with a sigh. "Alright. I'll use my hands." He handed Malcolm the shovel and got down on all fours, beginning to scrape and part the soft soil, outlining the vague shape of the hole they needed to dig.

Over the following half hour, distracted by their task, they almost forgot the nagging urge, except for when they exchanged glances and couldn't help but stray to the tented fronts of their uniforms. If anything, Malcolm felt the urge growing rather than dwindling with the physical labour and the distress of seeing Unya's still, dead face.

Not wanting to disturb the forest any more than they had to, they simply lay her in the grave, removed the blanket, and began to bury her. As they finished, Jonathan took care in smoothing and patting down the earth, before pulling himself to his feet and standing beside Malcolm in silent eulogy.

"Do you think we should say anything?" Malcolm asked.

"I'm not sure. It feels like I should." Jonathan took a deep breath and reluctantly exhaled, staring down at the mound of earth. "I don't know what respectful Feyr funeral rites are like, and I don't know how to best honour your death, but I can't leave here without saying something. Thank you, Unya, for your help, for trying to escort us to your home, we greatly appreciate everything you've done for us, and we regret that we could not complete our journey together." He swallowed thickly. "We hope you are at peace now."

Malcolm hesitantly reached out to pat Jonathan's back in a weak gesture of camaraderie, aware he was an inadequate source of comfort to his guilt-ridden Captain, and lightening shot between them, so visceral it felt like an explosion had detonated at the point where one body met the other. Malcolm felt the jolt under his palm as Jonathan's breath hitched, his head half-turning toward him, the world appearing to halt for that lone fragment of time.

Malcolm knew he should remove his hand, the charge travelling straight to his cock, but before he could summon the strength to leave, Jonathan had turned and pulled him into his arms, kissing him eagerly. Panting softly, Malcolm pulled back, a rising flush creeping up his throat and cheeks, nostrils flaring through breaths he couldn't quite catch. Malcolm noticed Jonathan's pupils dilating as they stared at each other, eyes wide, his chest heaving against his Captain's, the air between them thrumming with energy.

Their lips crashed together again with biting, sucking urgency, as their hands clawed and grappled with their uniforms, tearing the fabric from their sweaty limbs. Jonathan grabbed Malcolm around the waist and laid him on the ground with momentary gentleness, making sure to protect his head, before grinding roughly against him and finding his lips with his teeth.

Malcolm groaned and arched his back, rubbing his hard cock into the warm, damp friction between them, letting Jon swallow his moans as they kissed and rutted against each other, Jon's thrusting hips pushing his own deeper into the mud, their burning hands knotting and fighting and roaming over each other's bodies.

As Malcolm's hands found Jon's firm buttocks, feeling the muscles tense and release, Jon's fingers joined the delightful tangle of sensation between them and sent their desperate thrusting rhythm scattering into jerks and twitches. As the pleasure twisted tighter and suddenly uncoiled, sighs replaced moans and shivers replaced thrusts as come spurted between their bodies, soon smeared by the trembling, lazy squirms of the post-orgasm lull.

Breathing hard, Jonathan collapsed beside Malcolm in the mud, his arms remaining clutched tightly around him. They curled into one another, grinning dazedly with glassy eyes, still murmuring odd whimpers and moans between pants and softer kisses.

"I haven't been able to come like that since I was a teenager," Malcolm mumbled in amazement.

Jon snorted softly and stroked a hand tenderly through Malcolm's hair. "Me either."

As the afterglow began to dissipate, so did some of the enamour. Jonathan gently pulled away and sat up, appearing quite stunned as he surveyed their surroundings: the fresh grave, the disturbed earth, their discarded uniforms, and Malcolm lying exposed with his boxer-briefs almost at his knees.

Malcolm blinked as he pushed himself up, an anxious, sinking feeling settling in his gut as he recognised the shame in Jon's expression the same way it must've been set in his own. After several minutes of uncertain silence, they found themselves returning to the pool, maintaining some distance as they washed away all evidence of their indiscretion before dressing and shuffling awkwardly back into the pod. Jonathan murmured something about trying to get their equipment working; Malcolm left his regulation blues to dry in the sun.

Thankfully, Malcolm began to find it easier to stand and walk, so he didn't need to request help. He settled in the back of the shuttle on his bench, watching Jon's arms stretch and flex as he flicked different switches and buttons, trying to re-route the power from a back-up supply hopefully untainted by whatever electromagnetic shockwave had short-circuited their main relays. Like this, he soon fell asleep.

He woke later sweltering in the stifling pod, the heat soaring as they passed midday. Jonathan was still sitting at the console but he'd rolled his uniform down to his waist, sweat glistening on his shoulders and biceps as he worked, the heady smell of him permeating the small space. Malcolm sleepily felt his cock stir to life and quietly unzipped his uniform, pushing it down until he could release his straining erection. He pumped himself casually, watching Jonathan's muscled back as he leaned over to check if he was getting any results, until he came weakly, wiping the mess away with his uniform and tugging it back up just enough to cover his hips before falling back to sleep.

The second time he woke, he felt the background relief that could only come from an analgesic, and realised Archer had been keeping an eye on him despite his studious attempts to fix the pod. Now, however, his Captain was absent, and the dimming light outside led him to believe he'd slept away the entire afternoon. Frowning, he pulled himself up, hurrying to zip his jumpsuit tighter before it fell to his ankles, and taking a moment to adjust to being upright before he attempted walking.

Outside, the hum of insects ushered in the evening, and he noticed Jonathan's darkened figure lingering over the grave. When he drew closer, however, he noticed it was the ruts they'd left in the mud, and not Unya, that had his friend concerned, though her resting place had been somewhat disturbed by a wiry tangle of tree roots they'd apparently unearthed during their digging.

"Good evening, Malcolm," Jon greeted quietly when Malcolm paused a few feet away.

"Good evening, sir." Malcolm found himself instinctively assuming his at ease position, gaze shifting from the grave to his Captain.

"I think we can dispense with all formalities, don't you?" Jon replied with a sigh, shaking his head. "What happened this morning?"

"I don't know, sir." Malcolm bit his tongue a second too late, shrugging.

"I want to apologise. It was extremely unprofessional of me and I think we should forget it happened." Jonathan glanced at him worriedly, resignation in his eyes. "Unless, of course, you want to press charges against me, in which case I completely understand."

Malcolm shook his head. "Sir." He stepped closer and instinctively touched the man's cheek, before hurriedly returning his hand to his side when he felt that spark between them again, thankfully far less powerful than before. "Jon," he said more softly. "I participated too. Your position as my Captain meant nothing to me, and you didn't take advantage of me. I wanted it, too."

"Oh." Jon nodded, his frown returning and settling more deeply, making him appear even more conflicted as if that information made it worse. "Right."

Sensing Jonathan required more time to brood, he backed off. "I'll be back in the pod. We should probably stay inside after dark, we don't know what kind of wildlife stalks these forests."

"Yes, of course, I'll be there in a minute." Jon nodded and returned to his vigil over the tracks in the mud.

Malcolm found a ration bar in the survival kit and devoured it before curling up on the bunk and waiting for Jonathan to come back. He closed his eyes for a moment.

When he opened them he couldn't see anything - the pod had grown completely dark. He struggled at first to pinpoint what had woken him up, until heavy panting reached his ears, accompanied by the slick, smacking sound of flesh against flesh. That familiar heady smell washed over him, summoning him further awake, and he fumbled out of the bunk.

Reaching out, he found Jonathan's moving arm, only for it to abruptly still.

"Malcolm?"

Malcolm slurred an unintelligible response, tugging Jon's arm until he heard the man zip his uniform and climb down to join him on the floor. Shaking his head, Malcolm clumsily unfastened the zipper again and grasped Jon's erection, taking it into his mouth. The gasp he elicited seemed so loud in the quiet pod, instantly stirring him to full hardness. As he sucked his Captain off, he stuffed his hand inside his underwear and fucked his own fist with short, sharp thrusts.

The darkness, thick and impenetrable between them, yet binding them firmly together in isolation, granted them safety in this uncertain territory. The darkness made it okay. They could do what they needed in the darkness, without seeing the fear of shame in one another's eyes.

Malcolm felt Jon's strong fingers twist in his hair, heard his panting growing louder as he encouraged him to go faster, sensed the change in his scent before his thighs started to tremble and he suddenly tensed, coming in Malcolm's mouth. Malcolm winced at the unexpected mouthful, not having tasted semen in years, and spat it out somewhere behind him, just in time for Jon to grab his face and pull him closer for a kiss.

As their lips pressed together, Malcolm's grip on himself faltered when Jon's hand found his cock, letting the man's insistent fist pump him harder until he bucked and released his load against Jon's thigh. They slowly broke apart, breathing raggedly, and sat there for a few moments in uneasy silence, until Malcolm decided to just pull Jonathan closer to him on the floor and fall asleep there.

In the morning the only evidence of their late night encounter was the crusty discomfort in Malcolm's uniform. Jonathan was already awake and outside, leaving the hatch open, possibly to help dissipate the smell of sex and sweat that hung thickly in the air.

With a groan, he ambled into the sunshine and found Jonathan in the brook soaking himself and his uniform. Deciding that was a good idea, Malcolm stripped and cautiously sat down beside him in the shallows.

"Good morning, Malcolm," Jonathan greeted hesitantly after a second, sparing him a terse smile.

"Good morning, Jonathan." He spread his jumpsuit out in the water and started scrubbing at the stains.

"I haven't come three times in less than twelve hours in over twenty years," Archer said after a short while. "I think something on this planet is making us like this, driving us mad with physical urges."

Malcolm nodded pensively. "That makes sense."

"Until we have a better idea of what we're dealing with, I think we should avoid succumbing to our impulses. No jerking off, try and ignore thoughts of sex, and don't act on whatever attraction we have for each other at any given moment. I don't want to jeopardise our working relationship anymore than I already have."

"Once again, I remind you, I was an active participant," Malcolm muttered stubbornly.

"Malcolm," Archer warned. "Regardless, neither of us can be certain what's happening here. For all we know, this, whatever it is, could cause permanent damage, emotionally of course, but also possibly physically, depending on what's in our systems. We just don't know."

"Right, of course." Malcolm nodded in agreement. "I understand, sir."

"But the sir still isn't necessary." Jonathan glanced at him.

Malcolm managed a smile. "Okay."

After they finished washing their uniforms, they hung them on branches to dry and walked around naked in the morning sunlight, the temptation of flesh all the more obvious and tense between them. Continuing their work on the pod became a priority, but it didn't take long for them to grow desperate, especially as every time Jonathan so much as turned his head, Malcolm caught an overwhelming waft of his scent. He'd never met a man, or anyone else, with such an appealing smell, one that seemed to thicken the harder he worked, or the more aroused he became.

"You remember earlier, when you said you hadn't come that often in over twenty years?" Malcolm finally broke the terse silence between them, lying on the floor beneath a console, struggling to focus on what he was doing with his dick throbbing and leaking pre-come on his stomach.

"Yes?" Jonathan replied with a frown, shifting awkwardly in the pilot's seat.

"Well, when was the third time? We were in the mud together, and then last night in the dark, that's only twice." Malcolm's eyes drifted from his work, the heat rising in more than one way as he watched Jonathan's muscular arms above him.

Jonathan pursed his lips and looked away, staring intently at a console as if trying to decipher the buttons and switches but failing. "Well, I heard you jerking off in the middle of the day and it had an effect."

"Oh, right. So you took care of business." Malcolm nodded in understanding, then he paused, still finding the wires absolutely baffling where he'd once known them like the back of his hand. "Where?"

"I went outside." Jon shrugged. "Against the pod. Staring at you."

Malcolm let out a low, guttural groan. His groin ached, right up through his balls and along the length of his cock. He curled his hands into fists as they fell to his sides.

"That was a mistake," Jon said tensely. "I don't want our relationship to be ruined, but it's clear this situation isn't going to go away unless we take care of it and we won't get any work done in the meantime. Let's find quiet spots to take care of business and just get on with it, yes?"

Malcolm nodded in agreement, staring up at Jonathan. "I fear it's become too painful for me to walk, sir."

"Don't-" Jonathan's breath hitched, pushing his arse back into the chair. "Don't call me sir, not now, not right now."

Malcolm stared up at his Captain's face with a vague smile, unable to help himself as he wrapped a hand around his cock and jerked it a few times, quivering as his come spattered the wall beside him.

Jon couldn't tear his eyes away from his naked Lieutenant, his fingers shakily wrapping around his own hard dick and jerking slowly, as if trying to make himself last, but a scant few seconds later he sighed, still staring at Malcolm, and shot his load up against the console.

"Oh, god," Malcolm moaned. "I've always wanted to see you come in a chair like that. Ideally on the bridge but... that was good."

Jonathan clutched the console in front of him, swallowing hard. "Always?"

Malcolm blinked and sat up. "Well, I won't deny I've had a few fantasies about you in the past." He shrugged, his brow wrinkling and lips pursing apologetically. "I'm sorry, I apologise."

"No, don't apologise. I'm flattered." Jon smiled lazily. "I thought you hated me for my reckless command decisions."

"No," he said mildly with a shake of his head. "I couldn't hate you, sir." Malcolm pulled himself unsteadily to his feet. "I couldn't hate you, Jon." He patted his arm gently and then left the pod, heading to the pool to bathe.

It appeared that making themselves wait for release had improved their resilience against the itch, at least for a short while; they managed to clean the pod of all evidence of their dalliances and get one system functioning, only for it to burn out immediately because, thanks to their earlier distraction, Malcolm had confused some of the wiring.

"Fuck!" Malcolm exclaimed, raking a hand through his hair as he glanced apologetically to Jonathan. "I'm sorry, I fucked up. I should have been paying better attention to my job."

"It's fine. Nothing was severely damaged, and we both know what kind of state we were in earlier." Jonathan patted him on the back, and then quickly withdrew as they felt the spark again.

Malcolm swallowed thickly, aware they'd triggered renewed fervour. The beginnings of arousal tightened low in his abdomen, though it had never been completely gone.

"I'll go outside," Malcolm said quickly. "You stay here." He nodded and excused himself, heading around the back of the pod and into the trees a short way.

Closing his eyes, he remembered Jon's broad chest, the shape of his biceps, the feel of Jon's arse cheeks gripped in his hands; Malcolm felt his cock harden to full attention in his palm. If he focused, he could summon the scent of him, just underneath the perfume of the flowers and the sweetness of the grass, that rush of intoxicating musk. It grew stronger and more potent in his mind, forming a shape and colour of its own, becoming a definable object, the most vivid part of his fantasies.

As his hand jerked faster, suddenly a firm pair of arms wrapped around him from behind and stilled his movements, Jon's body pressing along all the hard lines of his own, bringing his scent alive in every crevice and receptor in Malcolm's skull.

"Maybe I've had a few fantasies of my own," Jon whispered thickly in Malcolm's ear. "Maybe I want to enact a few of them." He stroked down Malcolm's sides and relished the shiver.

"Please," Malcolm begged raggedly. "Please."

"I want to fuck you," Jon growled, his hands rubbing Malcolm's buttocks, slowly dipping between them and fingering his anus. "May I?"

Malcolm nodded jerkily, breath growing uneven, limbs shaking with need. He felt Jonathan's cool, slick fingers probe his entrance and push inside, pressing deeper and deeper and then halting just before the tightest bundle of nerves. Withdrawing completely, Malcolm whimpered and spread his legs wide, bending forward against a low branch.

Jonathan released a deep grunt of pleasure at the gesture, slicking his cock and gently pushing the head inside. Granting Malcolm some time to adjust, he then pressed further in, but Malcolm squirmed and begged him raggedly, wildly, to go further, until he knew Jonathan felt compelled to obey.

When Malcolm relaxed, Jon gradually began to move, giving a few experimental thrusts to find the best angle. Malcolm let him know he'd found what he was seeking by giving an appreciative groan and dropping his head, trembling eagerly beneath him as Jon began to gain pace, eliciting louder moans with harder, faster thrusts. Malcolm's knuckles whitened as he clutched the tree branch with one arm and pumped his own cock fervently with the other.

They fucked with abandon, moaning and howling into the empty forest because they could, slowing and quickening to keep things interesting, before giving in to the itch and chasing orgasm. Malcolm's body thrummed as he felt Jon come inside him, falling over the edge with him.

As they parted, Jonathan turned him around and hugged him. They stood there for a few minutes, breaths beginning to synchronise, heads resting on one another's shoulders, until they felt calm and quiet. Needing no words, they walked slowly to the brook and sat down together, soaking in the water.

Returning to their work in silence, they didn't touch each other or discuss what had happened in the woods, apparently choosing it to leave it there. Even when the arousal began to interfere with their work again, they didn't share their discomfort, deciding to finish for the day, eating a couple of ration bars in silence, and retiring to their bunks.

The awkward silence remained until the darkness fell; only then did they allow themselves to fall upon each other. Malcolm took Jonathan underneath him and fucked him until he lost all control, marking him with his teeth as he marked the floor with his come.

Each time they gave into the mad desire, the tension eased to manageable levels, only to creep back over the following minutes or hours, as they worked fastidiously to ignore it, until it simply overwhelmed them again. They'd resist, but eventually find themselves on the floor or against the shuttlepod, kissing, grasping, fucking fervently to get at that deep, primal itch, and when they weren't desperate and driven wild by the urge, they found they couldn't resist touching one another. These indulgences ignited the spark far quicker but became integral to their daily existence, reminding each other they weren't alone.

Malcolm found himself idly wondering if pon farr felt like this for Vulcans, an irrational, unfaltering _need_. He remembered the one occasion T'Pol had propositioned him whilst out of her mind with the blood fever, and how horrified he'd been at the thought of taking advantage of her. He hoped Jonathan didn't feel like that every time they had sex, because it couldn't be further from the truth. Sharing himself so deeply with Jonathan Archer, avoiding the frustrating shuffle of dating embarrassment, confessions of love and uncertainty of reciprocity, was the greatest liberty he'd ever been granted.

The planet continued to get stranger in the background of their distorted domesticity, the air so thick with sweetness some days they found it hard to breathe. Another tree root had come up through Unya's grave, almost in the shape of a hand that seemed to change positions every time they looked, covered with a superfine moss that glowed faintly at night, but neither of them could bring themselves to rebury her.

Malcolm woke one morning after dirty sex in the dark to find Jonathan staring at him, apparently having been watching him sleep. This was the first time he'd woken up with the man in his arms instead of out skimming stones or fixing the shuttle, quietly dealing with his feelings of shame and disgust with their activities.

"What are we doing, Malcolm?" Jon asked worriedly. "Why don't we have more control?"

Malcolm shook his head. "Whatever is happening is evidently beyond our control. Don't berate yourself for lack of restraint. If anything, I think we're showing admirable restraint in keeping our indulgences to just three a day. We should simply let it run its course and deal with it in the most efficient way, which as I see it, is letting ourselves have sex when we need it, and working around the urges."

Jonathan sighed. "But is it right? We're using each other."

"I'm not using you, Jon," Malcolm said seriously, his fingertips twitching and gently curling into the sleeves of Jon's uniform. "I'm going to be sad when this ends. I'm closer to you than I've ever been to anyone."

Surprised, a smile tugged the corner of Jonathan's lips. "I like it, too, Malcolm. I always wanted to be closer to you - I never suspected it would be quite this close - but I'm overjoyed, and I will treasure this time forever, no matter how long it lasts. It's one reprieve, one moment of happiness, in this strange, brutal life we lead."

"I just hope, maybe, some of your feelings for me last after this wears off."

Jon smiled sadly and stroked a hand through Malcolm's hair. "I can guarantee they will."

Malcolm tried to smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. Jonathan kissed him passionately and slowly shifted down his body, stroking, licking, biting until he took Malcolm's dick into his mouth and summoned it to full hardness. Instead of their usual frantic coupling, neither of them feeling the fierce imperative of the urge, Jonathan made love to Malcolm slowly, at their own pace, on the floor of the shuttlepod.

As they came to an understanding, finally abandoning their notions of what was appropriate, releasing the guilt that had tainted many of their early encounters, and giving into the urge whenever it struck, their productivity and concentration increased. Two days later, they'd finally managed to stabilise the short distance scanners, the only system they'd managed to reliably reinstate, and discovered an electromagnetic cloud high up in the atmosphere had apparently been the source of most of their electrical problems.

The next work in progress became the communications systems, but by this point they were running low on rations, so they adapted some hand scanners and set out early one morning looking for edible plants in the forest.

By midday, the heat was soaring and they hadn't had any luck. Their water was running low, but inside the petals of a giant, perfumed flower, they found a lingering pool from the last rainfall.

"Mm," Malcolm murmured appreciatively as it slid down his parched throat, sharing it with Jonathan. "It's very pure and sweet, like coconut water."

Drinking thirstily, they both gulped down the sweet nectar, finding it oddly addictive, until it was gone and they licked each remaining drop from each other's lips.

They'd walked barely ten yards when they were struck suddenly drunk, both of them losing their legs underneath them. Sitting down in the undergrowth, they reached for one another to steady themselves, and sparks shot off like fireworks under their skin, making them flinch and recoil and reach out again, the draw magnetic, unchangeable.

Malcolm squirmed, his balls and cock aching, his skin itching desperately for Jonathan. The secret to their madness grew crystal clear, then seemed so insignificant as to be laughable. "It's pollen!" he exclaimed, giggling maniacally, but the words felt heavy, falling from his lips in a slow, treacly stream. "That's what's making us..." He gasped as he met Jon's eyes, grabbing him and kissing him urgently, falling into his arms, gripping him so hard he left bruises.

Jonathan's hands, like fire, burned down his back and on his balls and around his cock, until he couldn't breathe. They struggled and bucked and fought closer, biting and bruising, trying to climb inside and devour each other. Malcolm pulled Jon down into the undergrowth and threw his legs open wide, lifting his hips and bending his knees so Jon could thrust inside, fucking him hard and fast as the forest whirled and whirled and whirled around them. They came, but the aching didn't stop, the hardness didn't stop, they had to fuck more, harder, faster, deeper, _more_.

The forest spun faster, their need intensified until every brush of the breeze sent them wild; they clawed at each other until their arms were raw and their fingernails cracked. Malcolm threw Jon down and fucked him until they'd reached the brink over and over and over again, until Jonathan fought back and pressed his face into the dirt and took him like an animal from behind, and his balls remained tight, orgasm after shuddering, painful orgasm not relieving the tension that grew tauter, pushed them harder, drove them screaming mad and foaming at the mouths, until they collapsed, shaking fiercely, from exhaustion.

The spinning forest slowly faded to black.


	2. The Idle City

"Jon," Malcolm moaned as he stirred, feeling the soft hand on his forehead move away.

"Your fever's broken," an unfamiliar voice said quietly. "My name is Vyr. You're in The Idle City. How do you feel?"

Malcolm's neck twitched, turning his head towards the voice, feeling a weight ease off the mattress beside him. The sounds and sweetness of the forest had grown distant, but remained an active presence somewhere on the periphery. Warm, soft sheets cradled his naked body close to the bed, the older aches in his head seemed far away.

"Where is he?" he asked worriedly. Lifting his heavy eyelids, he stared blearily at the ceiling, waiting until his eyes began to focus before seeking the face of his companion. Standing beside him he found an older Feyr woman in a neat grey uniform, her face carefully blank.

"We're treating him in another room. Don't worry about him."

Malcolm's brow wrinkled. It was his _job_ to worry about Jonathan. He opened his mouth to insist, but she distracted him as her fingers delicately peeled something warm and wet from the bridge of his nose. "Our balms and poultices have healed much of the bruising and chafing, especially the injuries you've sustained to your face." She examined him closely. "We anticipate no complications from your condition."

"One of our diplomatic aides found you and Captain Archer along the Seyrn foothills not far from Yylure," she continued. "You'd both suffered quite a severe overdose from one of our blossoms, but that is a hazard to even the most acclimatised of our own species when venturing into the Deep Trees." A warm hand rested gently on his arm. "You should be fine now that we've administered a treatment, but the influence may remain rather more acute for the next few days."

Malcolm felt his body flush, toes twitching under the soft sheets as all his blood rushed to the surface, reddening his cheeks and burning the tips of his ears. Snapshots of memories flashed behind his eyes, remembering the desperate, fevered desire that had consumed them in the weeds and imagining what state they might've been found in: naked and bleeding, dirty and bruised, hard and panting and aroused.

"There's no need to be embarrassed," Vyr said with a shake of her head. "It's mating season, you'll probably see worse on the streets. What I do need to ascertain is if there was any issue of consent. We take such matters very seriously."

"Consent?" Malcolm blinked. "I consented, yes." His brow furrowed as an awful thought knotted at the back of his throat and made his heart beat a little faster. "Did Jonathan disagree?"

She shook her head and got to her feet. ""I assessed him earlier; you're both free to see each other. In fact, I probably suggest as such. He's in the room opposite." With a brief nod, she excused herself.

Malcolm's brow furrowed as his eyes drifted back to the ceiling, his hands nervously finding one another on his chest. He curled his fingers into the sheets with a deep sigh, slowly orienting himself to the world and his own body once more, when he suddenly realised what the nurse had meant by her suggestion, finding the sheets tented where the urge had been burning quietly low in his abdomen.

Disgusted, his nose wrinkled and he threw back the covers, staring down at his body. A few yellowish remnants of bruises and bite marks lingered on his arms and legs, some on his stomach and chest, and dozens along the insides of his thighs. He found an odd green stain on his collarbone, but it came off when he rubbed at it, smelling almost like mint.

Startling himself from self-examination, Malcolm got to his feet and opened the door in search of Jonathan, the light, airy hallway decorated in delicate shades of green and gold. The other door he sought lay a few feet to the left; he forgot all about his nudity as he marched over and entered. In the room, identical to his own, including the shapes and symbols carved into the walls, he found Jon sitting in bed examining a PADD-like device.

"Jon?" Malcolm asked hoarsely, teeth grinding together as he slumped back against the closed door. Their eyes met, but Malcolm's strayed to the yellow marks around his friend's throat, a surge of guilt momentarily crippling him.

Jonathan tossed back the covers and padded over to meet him, taking his hands. "I'm so glad you're here," he admitted, smiling as he leaned in to kiss him.

Malcolm met Jon's lips eagerly, wrapping his arms around his neck and feeling Jon's erection pressing into his hip, but the gesture softened as relief flooded through him, his body suddenly sagging against Jon's as the strength left his legs.

"Are you alright?" Jon asked, gently cradling Malcolm's cheek in one hand, thumb stroking softly beneath his chin as he stared into his eyes.

"I'm fine," he smiled weakly.

"By that do you mean what you usually mean?"

"No, I'm genuinely fine," he said, his smile growing a shade self-deprecating. "I was just relieved to feel you needing me. It took me by surprise."

Jonathan smiled and kissed the corner of his lips. "I'll always need you, Malcolm." 

Malcolm leaned in and kissed him again. Holding each other, they ambled toward the bed and fell into the mattress, hands roaming down backs and over the swell of buttocks. When they parted, Malcolm settled against Jonathan's side, his fingers lingering along his lover's spine.

"They've fixed my nose," he murmured. "So the dizziness is completely gone." He tilted his head to meet Jon's eyes. "Did they tell you that our reaction to the pollen is quite normal?"

"Yes," Jonathan replied, voice holding a tense edge. "I'm not sure how to feel. If they had warned us, Phlox may have been able to immunise us, or we could have planned our journey around it, but... Is it selfish that I feel... glad?"

"Why?" Malcolm frowned.

"Because it gave me the opportunity to be honest with you, and with myself." Jonathan shrugged one shoulder, eyes never straying from Malcolm's.

"Then no, it's not selfish. It's made things clearer for me, too." Malcolm tentatively retrieved one of Jonathan's hands and held it. He closed his eyes, just for a moment, clinging to his thoughts through the rising insistence of the itch as Jonathan's smell subtly changed around him, making it burn brighter, but a new kind of fear chained him to inertia.

"Should we talk about what happened in the forest?" He swallowed thickly, hesitating before meeting Jon's eyes again.

"Are you hurt?" Jonathan asked, sounding concerned.

"No. Not now, anyway. But I wanted to- not hurt, but _have_ more of you, and I wanted you to hurt me. I wanted more of it, of you, more pleasure, more pain, more sensation. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think. I felt like I needed to fuck you until you were nothing but ashes and bones. There just wasn't _enough_."

Jonathan swallowed hard and exhaled, his body trembling slightly as he remembered the intense, unrelenting desire. "That's _exactly_ what it was like." He clutched Malcolm to him a little harder. "It makes me wild just thinking..." Jonathan trailed off hoarsely, his pupils dilating, breath hitching a little.

A groan caught raggedly in the back of Malcolm's throat, a violent shudder shaking him from head to foot.

Jonathan reached over to the nightstand and retrieved a clear sachet of amber liquid. "They've been prepared for us."

Malcolm's eyebrow quirked as he watched Jon squeeze the strange gel into his hand and smear it across his fingers, only for his face to fall, eyes transfixed and mouth dry, as Jonathan lifted his knees and pushed a finger inside himself. Suddenly, breathing became a mystery, all blood rushed away from his brain and down his body to join the knot of need tightening in his crotch.

As he watched Jonathan finger himself, his chest quivered through each harsh, stolen breath, fingers curling and uncurling by his hip as he didn't know whether to resist or give in.

Eventually, he had no choice. As Jon pushed his index and middle finger deep into himself and moaned in a way that lifted all the hairs on Malcolm's arms and the back of his neck, he grabbed his lover's hands and made him stop. Climbing on top of him, he grabbed Jon by his hair and kissed him, his intoxicating smell growing thicker, driving him forward.

"Mine," he grunted as he pushed inside and grabbed tighter hold of Jonathan, returning to where he belonged.

Malcolm had to resist pushing his hips harder and deeper, clinging to conscious acknowledgement of the urgency and fighting it back. He helped push Jon's hips up with a pillow so he could angle himself better, faltering as he tried to simultaneously find a pleasing rhythm and cling desperately to his last remnants of control.

Jonathan reached up and grabbed his face, roughly joining their lips in a clumsy, snatched kiss. "It's okay, Malcolm."

Malcolm met Jonathan's eyes, taking a second to register his words, and a fragment longer to understand them, and nodded. Permission granted, he unburdened himself of doubt and plunged in deeper, his hands gripping Jon's flesh so tightly his nails left marks, eyes watching Jon's broad hands pleasure himself as they found their fire.

After they'd satiated themselves, finding it such a relief to feel the afterglow instead of greater need, and Malcolm had collapsed into the mattress beside Jon, they lazily threw the sheets over their cooling bodies, snaked their arms around one another, and fell asleep.

They both stirred later when Vyr entered. Malcolm blinked and rubbed his head as he sat up, covering his mouth as he yawned and squinted around the room. She touched a knob beside her and warm, glowing light began radiating from points on the wall.

"How are you both feeling?" She asked politely.

"Better, thank you," Jonathan responded.

"I'd like to reintroduce myself. I'm Vyr, Monarch Wanyr's personal medical adviser. When you were recovered not far from Yylure, Monarch Wanyr insisted on bringing you to yis personal halls and having me personally oversee your recovery. I've informed our Monarch that you you're both awake and well, so ye would like to speak with you and offer a formal apology. We've provided suitable clothing for you to the best of our capability, so if you'd like to get dressed, one of our Monarch's personal stewards will escort you to yis dining table. Do you require anything of me before I take my leave?"

"No, thank you." Jonathan nodded. "We're feeling much better now."

Vyr inclined her head slightly and excused herself. They watched her leave before reluctantly sliding out of bed and finding the clothes they'd been given, made of near weightless linen that made them feel as if they were wearing nothing. The Feyr had no use for underwear, which left them feeling rather exposed.

A young man met them at the door after a moment, introducing himself as Mehr, their personal escort and steward while they stayed in the Monarch's city. He seemed but a sapling; his Feyr carving-like facial structure was quite flat and undeveloped, making him appear almost human, but he smiled easily and answered their questions avidly. The Idle City was constructed on a tiered plateau in the canopy of colossal trees that entwined and shaped to form a network of buildings and walkways, and whenever they passed an archway or a window, they were gifted with a view of a great waterfall, and its tributaries, tumbling through the sculpted branches.

Mehr led them into a warm, spacious room where a stream flowed through twin channels into a large pool, and Monarch Wanyr sat on yis throne, a beautifully decorated bough surrounded by blossoming shrubs. Ye stood and eagerly met them by the water's edge.

"My esteemed guests," Monarch Wanyr greeted, clasping both of their hands for a moment. Ye, as both Vyr and Mehr had used when referring to their Monarch, was taller than most Feyr, with sharp, majestic cheek-branches and long limbs. Yis eyes were a deep ochre, with the bright gleam of fascination with yis guests.

"I want to offer my humblest, most sincere apologies for your hardships. We are very sorry for the damage sustained to yourselves - and to your ship - and we hope your visit will not be ruined by these unfortunate events." Wanyr led them to the far side of the room, where one of the water channels entered, and out into a bright courtyard. In the centre, a table and chairs had been arranged and they were invited to sit.

"Due to the bioelectrical nature of our ecosystem," Wanyr began, upturning yis hands, "our denser pollen seasons have occasionally caused malfunctions in traditional equipment. I never would have encouraged a meeting had I known they were getting this thick this early in the season. I'd imagine this is what caused your craft to crash."

"The pollen clouds high up in our atmosphere have prevented us from speaking directly with your ship. You will not be able to leave the planet until they dissipate, but I have arranged a villa for you in my city and my youngest steward, Mehr, will do anything to make you more comfortable during your stay." Wanyr adjusted yisself, always positioned so regally, as if every seat were a throne. "However, our friend Potentate Gryr has managed to establish intermittent contact with your vessel in orbit, and a message I managed to send to him let your companions know that you are safe and well. Your medical officer also managed to transmit some information to mine that allowed us to treat your injuries more effectively."

"Why were we not warned this could be a potential problem during our visit?" Jonathan asked.

"Well, the season usually doesn't arrive this early or this abruptly. It wasn't due for another lunar cycle, and Il Teyr in particularly can be most unpredictable. We regret that it has caused you such problems."

"What exactly is the pollen?" Malcolm asked curiously. "If that's not an impertinent question."

"Not at all. It's part of our biology." Wanyr paused as a server arrived and poured them all drinks. Ye smiled. "I've taken the precaution of filtering our water for you. A lot of our blossoms get into the water supply, and they all contain a concentrated dose of the same aphrodisiac chemicals that took you by surprise in the Deep Trees."

"Thank you," they both murmured, taking a cautious sip.

"From what I've read, our plants seem much like those of Earth. They breed by cross-pollination, but as we evolved from the flora here, we're very in-tune with their cycles and tides. We produce a pollen ourselves." Wanyr touched the closed bud at the back of yis head, encircled by the wiry tangle of twig-like hair that grew backwards from yis temples. "It helps us find our way."

"Find your way?" Jonathan asked.

"The pollen encourages compatible Feyr to consider one another for mating. The perfumes and spores that our blossoms produce do not only pollinate, but communicate, and, well, when the rest of our world is clamouring for sex, it's quite hard to ignore." Wanyr smiled gracefully. "Our brains, indeed our whole bodies, are made to sense and smell every change in the atmosphere. This is how we remain attuned to our roots. Unless our plants are sleeping, the pollen maintains a perennial influence on us. It's just more acute at present. Other visiting species have reported a variety of responses to the urge, though of course we do not place them deliberately in the midst of the most intense season, if at all possible."

Ye paused, appearing briefly disdainful as ye said, "I rarely trust the ones who don't feel it at all - they're not usually good news." Then yis smile returned. "So I am quite pleased to know the two of you have been warmed by the kindest of our seasons. I hope that is not inappropriate to say. I confess this is the reason I requested only the two of you visit, a leader and his most trusted adviser, lest you felt the impulse."

Jonathan glanced at Malcolm with a vague smile, but resisted the urge to touch him, as fond as he felt in that instant.

"The other members of our Triumvirate have high hopes for future encounters with your species, and I'm pleased to say I completely agree. You are quite charming. But - I fear I have kept you talking too long." Wanyr glanced between them with a knowing look. "You may stay another night in my halls, or I can have Mehr escort you to the villa. Please let me know."

"May I ask, when do you think we will be able to return to our ship?" Jonathan set his glass down on the table.

Wanyr pursed yis lips. "I'm afraid it's quite difficult to say. The worst of the season usually ends with the rain, but those storms can be quite dangerous as well. It could be another lunar cycle, or even two. I will keep you as informed as I can."

Jonathan nodded reluctantly. "Alright. Thank you, Monarch Wanyr."

"Please, you may address me by my name." Wanyr stood as they got to their feet, accompanying them back into yis throne room. "I hope we can see much more of each other during your stay here."

"I hope so as well," Jonathan replied, before Mehr escorted them from the room.

As they walked back to their rooms, Malcolm couldn't help brushing against Jonathan, just to feel the thunderclap of magnetism that rocked them each and every time. He ran his fingers lightly down the man's strong, exposed forearm, taking his hand briefly as the itch returned. The friendly, easy attitude of the Feyr had relaxed them, so they continued holding hands, even as their bodies began to respond to the surge of warmth through that single point of contact.

In their thin, loose clothes, the problem was immediately obvious but, like drunks - and they weren't certain the water had been completely free of influence - their inhibitions slid away. Malcolm made a half-hearted effort, holding his hand awkwardly in front of his crotch, but that caused him to brush the silky fabric against the sensitive head of his dick. Caught between trying to hide the reaction and trying not to make it worse, he cupped his palm more firmly against his genitals, but the movement of walking only titillated him further.

The thin fabric grew damp. Malcolm closed his eyes and tried to focus on putting one foot in front of the other, but then Jonathan pushed his hand gently down the back of his trousers and stroked his buttocks, fingers dipping tantalisingly down the cleft. His hand cupped himself tighter and he bit back a gasp. They weren't far from the room now, but he couldn't resist rubbing just a little, along the underside and back over the head, dragging that soft barely-existent fabric with it.

His orgasm caught him by surprise. Mid-step, he faltered, the tension at the base of his spine suddenly slackening as he felt a hot wetness flood his palm through the cloth. He sighed and swayed slightly, extending his free hand to steady himself against the wall as the other continued to stroke through the wet fabric. Everyone halted. Jonathan's eyes burned into him, Mehr looked up completely unfazed, told them their rooms were down the next left, and departed, leaving them alone in a quiet, empty hallway.

"You just came." Jonathan grinned.

Malcolm nodded, slumping against the wall and staring down at himself, a mixture of stunned horror and satiated afterglow on his face.

"Damn, if I could make you do that on the bridge of the Enterprise, I'd be the happiest man in the galaxy."

Malcolm punched him gently in the arm, smiling as his cheeks flushed bright pink, then he grabbed his collar and pulled him in for a kiss. "Yeah, but feel this," he murmured roughly, cradling Jonathan's balls through the fabric, jerking his cock a few times.

"Oh," Jon breathed. "That's good. Really-"

Malcolm smirked to himself, soon feeling Jon tremble as his seed moistened the fabric and warmed his palm. "See?" he said triumphantly.

"Okay," Jonathan muttered. "You win. Now it's my turn again." He grabbed Malcolm's hand and pulled him back to the bedroom.

Once the door was closed behind them, he lay Malcolm down on the bed and started at his ankles, gently rubbing him in small circles. He moved up his shins, over his knees, and rubbed his palms along the insides of Malcolm's thighs, pulling the trousers down just enough to see the tip of his flaccid cock resting against his dark pubic hair, a dribble of come clinging to his foreskin. Jonathan's massage continued in wide circles on his stomach, caressing his lover's navel and up his sides, across his nipples and collarbone.

Malcolm moaned softly. "That feels so good."

"I can tell," he observed, watching Malcolm's cock grow a little firm. "That water definitely wasn't completely clean."

"No, I feel like I could go again," he murmured, hands curling into the sheets. "And why is all their fabric designed to drive you mad?"

"I don't know, but I certainly never thought I'd be wandering around an alien monarch's palace, on a diplomatic mission, with a throbbing hard-on like that, and it's not just condoned, but encouraged." Jonathan chuckled. "Sometimes, this job has its perks."

Malcolm caught Jonathan's chin so he could assure eye contact. "I think we deserve some, for once."

"So do I," he agreed, leaning down to kiss him. "And I'm glad it's with you."

Malcolm smiled happily and wrapped his arms around him, pulling him closer so they could rub and grind against one another through the silken fabric.

"I love it when my come marks you," Malcolm mumbled tiredly, fingering the stains on Jon's trousers.

Jonathan captured his lips again as they stripped naked, depositing their borrowed clothes in a soiled heap. In the adjoining bathroom, they filled the tub and lay together in the warm water, kissing and touching each other. Only when they heard a visitor arrive in the other room did they tiredly drag themselves up and dry themselves off, wrapping bathrobes made of thicker linen around themselves.

Mehr was pushing a cart laden with plates. "The pollen can easily make you forget to eat," he said as he situated it next to the bed. "Please enjoy your meal - some of our finest dishes courtesy of Monarch Wanyr. If there's anything you need, you can contact me with this." He placed a small communicator on the nightstand before disappearing again.

Malcolm and Jonathan lounged in bed as they ate delicate parcels of gently-set custard wrapped in succulent vine leaves and tender game meat falling off the bone, stewed in a rich, aromatic broth. The smells were so potent, Malcolm could pick out individual tastes before they hit his tongue, and for dessert they found tart, refreshing scoops of sorbet in tiny wooden bowls.

With the food soothing aches of which they hadn't been aware, they fell asleep in each other's arms. Malcolm woke sometime in the middle of the night, as a gentle breeze wafted through the room, drawing him out onto the balcony where he was gifted with a shimmering cloud of pollen glowing against the night sky. After a few minutes, he felt Jonathan wrap his arms around him from behind and kiss his shoulders, joining his silent vigil over the city.

In the courtyard below, a young couple kissed passionately on a bench. Malcolm hummed. "Who was your first love?" he asked, turning to watch Jonathan's face.

Jon cocked his head and considered for a moment. "I think my first love - true, passionate, I'd-die-for-you love - was my second girlfriend, I was maybe twenty-three. She was absolutely beautiful, with glowing dark skin and the most gorgeous curves you can imagine. She laughed often and infectiously, and had breasts you'd want as a pillow. I wanted to marry her the moment I saw her. I was still at Stanford, and unfortunately she was the girlfriend of one of my teammates, so I didn't clumsily make a move on her until after they'd broken up and she was ready to date again."

"What happened?" He asked curiously, finding it hard to imagine Archer ever having had a problem courting beautiful girls.

"Well, we were made for each other, for the two years we were together, and then suddenly we weren't anymore. It happens, I suppose. We didn't part on bad terms, but we didn't really feel the need to keep in touch after a while. We occasionally hear news of one another through our old circle of friends. I know she had two girls three or four years after we broke up, but she only married their father quite recently." Jon shrugged. "What about you?"

Malcolm sighed, his expression dimming regretfully. "This is going to sound pathetic, but I was fourteen and he was eighteen. We were Navy cadets. His body was covered in scars - he'd been very sick as a child, just like me, with brittle bones and a heart condition that required several surgeries - but I loved every single one of them. I idolised him and I would've done anything for him. He challenged me to be a different person. We drank and smoked and did the occasional recreational drug, ran away for days at a time, had unprotected sex. I bet you'd never believe I was such a rebel." He closed his eyes.

"What happened to him?" Jonathan kept his arms loosely around Malcolm, brow wrinkling as he listened.

"I didn't like the person he challenged me to be." Malcolm swallowed thickly, dropping his head. "I did everything he asked of me, and when I didn't, he'd get angry. We had a few fistfights, I usually came off worse, but I did once dislocate his shoulder. After he failed the psychological exam for Naval academy, we had one final fling and he disappeared. I grovelled to my parents, went back to my studies and my training, and became the person you know today."

"I often wondered what your teenage years were like. No one escapes those without a little rebellion." Jonathan embraced him fully, pressing their bodies close together. "I'm glad you made it out alive."

"As am I," he muttered, sighing through his nose. "I knew things would get better in the end."

Jonathan smiled and nudged Malcolm's hips back against the balustrade, touching his lips with the calloused pad of his thumb. "Let me show you just how good they can get."

Malcolm whimpered appreciatively as Jonathan's hands swept down his back and gripped his waist, his lover's lips touching spots down his throat and across his clavicle. His own hands roamed over Jon's body, finally taking his hands and leading him back to bed.

The following morning, Mehr brought them breakfast - strips of crisp, grilled meat in a tangy, almost fruity sauce, served with thin crackers. After they'd eaten their fill they were informed they had a visitor, so they hurried to get dressed, bodies beginning to acclimatise to the fabric, and padded down the hall to the lounge area. A Feyr woman sat with her back to them, but she turned when they approached.

Malcolm stalled and stared at her. "Unya?" He blinked, shaking loose the image of her corpse lying in the forest.

Unya hurried to get to her feet, lips no longer dry and pale, but full and healthy and alive as she beamed. "Good morning Jonathan Archer, Malcolm Reed."

Jonathan glanced at Malcolm, their faces blank, and back to their guide. "You're alive."

Unya's expression grew perturbed. "Of course. I must thank you for planting me. The soil of Il Teyr is perfect for regrowth, and it's also my home." She took a step closer and grasped their hands, one in each of hers. "My betrothed and I were planning on trying for a sapling this season. Thanks to your kindness, I will have that opportunity."

Malcolm smiled in bemused appreciation, body reacting before his mind had really comprehended. "On Earth, we bury our dead to respect, honour and remember them. We were not aware that it was an important part of your life cycle." He wiped his spare palm on his trousers. "But we're both very relieved we were able to help."

"I understand our biology seems most foreign to you, but your intuition led you well. I can't thank you enough for giving me a second chance."

"There's no need to thank us," Malcolm assured. "We're just glad our human rituals saved your life."

"Did you find us?" Jonathan asked as she released their hands. "In the forest. Was it you?"

"Yes, of course, you were both very ill when I found you. I could feel something wasn't right as I began to wake, so I followed your trail into the Deep Trees. I managed to send a message to Yylure, and they helped me bring you back here to The Idle City." She studied them briefly, her eyes paling to a clear green. "Are you both feeling better?"

"Yes, much better," Jonathan replied. "Thank you for your help."

"I'm very relieved to hear you are well. I always worry about visitors during the season, even my own kind when they come from The Rebel City. Those strangers are not used to our forests, their own natural habitat." She smiled with a slight twitch of her head. "But, I apologise for interrupting your morning, I'm sure I've usurped enough of your time. I wanted to invite you both to dine with my betrothed and I, if you are free. Perhaps the evening after next?"

"No need to apologise. We're happy to hear from you, and we'd love to be your dinner guests," Archer agreed immediately with a nod. "Monarch Wanyr has arranged somewhere for us to stay, so contact us anytime."

"I'm aware Mehr has been appointed your personal steward," she commented. "We can arrange it through him. He's my betrothed's little brother."

"That sounds wonderful." Jonathan shook her hand. "We look forward to it."

Unya bowed her head a little. "Once again, thank you. Please enjoy the rest of your morning." She turned to finish her drink before taking her leave.

As soon as she was gone, Jonathan grew pale and gripped the back of the nearest chair, sitting down heavily. Malcolm rested a hand on his shoulder. "Are you alright?"

"Fine," Jonathan said sharply, before shaking his head. "She was dead, Malcolm. I carried her and buried her. Completely lifeless. Because of my error."

"But she lived, Jon." Malcolm sat down beside him, hand resting on his thigh. "We didn't mean to hurt her. The crash wasn't our fault, but we did save her."

"By _burying_ her, Malcolm. We naively did what we knew how to do. We didn't know anything about their death rituals, let alone their physiology and basic health. We were completely ignorant and our ignorance happened to save her. We just stumbled across the right thing to do, completely by accident. She would've died if we'd just left her."

"But we didn't, and that wouldn't have made any sense." Malcolm grabbed the back of Jonathan's neck, pulling him closer and pressing their foreheads together. "Listen to me. Our actions saved her life, not because they were born of Feyr knowledge, but because they were born of human tradition, compassion and ritual. Our humanness saved her. Isn't that worth celebrating? Or at least acknowledging? That, in the deep of space, getting misrepresented and misinterpreted all the time as we try to forge immortal footprints across the universe, our very humanness saved a Feyr life?"

Jonathan rubbed his mouth and met Malcolm's eyes. Malcolm swallowed and looked away, certain his ineptitude at providing emotional support had pushed them apart. His fingers loosened their grip on Jon and fell away.

"You're right, actually," Jonathan said after a moment. "Maybe that is noteworthy." A little of the tension eased in his expression, the corner of his lips upturning in a vague smile. "Thank you."

Malcolm smiled back hesitantly, letting out a short breath of relief. "My insight might not be very sophisticated, but I do think the idea is worth a little merit."

"Your insight was exactly what I needed, Malcolm." He cradled Malcolm's face in his hands and kissed him, beginning to push him down into the sofa.

"Captain Archer, Lieutenant Reed," Mehr interrupted hesitantly from the door. "I've arranged a carriage to take you to your villa this morning, if you're ready to leave."

"Yes, we're ready." Jonathan nodded, disentangling himself from Malcolm and helping him to his feet.

Gathering their belongings, they followed Mehr to a waiting Cinderella carriage on the roof, minus the horses. The rounded shape reminded Malcolm of a giant peach stone, big enough to fit four people at least. He vaguely wondered if they had a record for the most people ever crammed inside one, but the thought evaporated as they lifted gently into the air and gazed down on the city.

The journey was incredibly short; soon they were landing gently on a roof somewhere a little higher in the city branches with an amazing view of the palace. As they disembarked, they were greeted by the house staff and Mehr introduced them all, before showing the two of them around. The more operational rooms - the kitchens, the staff quarters, the meeting hall - were at the front, leaving the master bedroom suite undisturbed at the back and opening into a sunlight dappled courtyard with a bathing pool and a view of the neighbourhood.

Malcolm found himself continuously floored by the beauty of their surroundings and the generosity of their Feyr hosts, making sure to learn the names of each of the staff, and thank the chef for the snacks he'd prepared in advance. As they got comfortable, the young housekeeper was more than happy to share a few dining recommendations, and so they ventured out along the branches.

They found a delightful restaurant on a terrace not far from Wanyr's Halls, sharing a savoury fruit tart and sipping mead. The mead, evidently, was a mistake; it had a profound and immediate effect. They barely made it into the bathrooms before their clothes were off and they were fucking violently against every available surface, in a frenzy close to that of the forest that wouldn't abate until they'd come twice. As they'd finished, panting and clutching each other, a Feyr couple stumbled through the door in a similar state and they hastily made their exit.

On the awkward walk back, in those light, soft clothes, the after effects caught them abruptly unaware; they stumbled hastily into a shaded alleyway dotted with benches. Malcolm's fist was already around his cock, desperate to relieve the ache, as Jonathan knelt down to take him into his mouth, but he only just got his trousers down before he was bucking and spattered Jon's face with his come.

Malcolm took in the view with half-lidded eyes, breathing hard. "That's so sexy," he murmured, fingers shakily smearing through the mess he'd made on Jon's chin.

Jonathan could only snort with laughter, wiping his face with his sleeve. "Maybe you're not the only one with a come fetish."

Malcolm's eyebrow quirked, then he smirked indolently and stripped out of his shirt. "Where do you want to come, Jon?"

Jonathan grabbed Malcolm's shoulder and turned him around, then pulled down his trousers and tugged his prick until he tensed and spurted over Malcolm's buttocks. "There."

Malcolm chuckled dryly as he yanked the thin Feyr material back up and clawed his way back into his shirt. "You're good."

Jonathan joined him against the wall, the alleyway stinking of sex and stale cooking. "I know."

Grinning, they slowly dragged themselves to their feet. "I feel so dirty," he said with a snort. "We really need a bath."

"Let's do what the locals do," Jon suggested, reaching for his hand.

Leisurely, they walked back into the sun and down a winding slope. Two streams converged and gushed into a wide, open basin where Feyr couples and threesomes lingered, talking and touching casually, completely ignoring the naked aliens as the warm water welcomed Malcolm and Jonathan. As they soaked and washed themselves, they tried to avoid ingesting any water, their limbs already aching under the powerful hold of the pollen.

"The Japanese have onsens, the Romans had their baths, the Feyr have an intricate arrangement of waterways running through the streets of their capital cities." Malcolm commented as they leaned against one another in a quiet corner.

"I think it works pretty well for them, to be honest," Jonathan replied with a shrug as Malcolm chuckled softly.

Exhausted, they finally made their way back to the villa, being careful not to touch each other in an attempt to and prevent another explosive encounter, even as they both yearned for the connection. But they were too tired, too helpless. Malcolm excused himself to the courtyard, unable to take being so close to Jon.

Jonathan lay back on the bed and closed his eyes for just a moment, but the sound of the door opening caught his attention.

"I've prepared dinner," the chef informed him quietly. "I think you'll appreciate the benefits of the meal I've chosen."

"Thank you," Jon grunted with a nod, pushing himself up onto his elbows.

The chef ushered his assistant into the room with a tray, depositing it on the dining table by the windows. "Please enjoy your meal. It should give you some reprieve from the fervour. Many of our species drink it during the height of the season."

Jonathan nodded and thanked them as he headed outside, finding Malcolm on the very edge of the yard, leaning on the wall and staring down at the city. "Malcolm," he called softly. "Our chef has prepared dinner for us both."

"I'm not hungry," he replied with a shrug.

"He told me it will help us with the _fervour_."

Malcolm glanced up, reluctantly unfurling his arms and nodding, following Jon back into the bedroom. Sitting opposite each other, they lifted spoonfuls of fragrant, sweet-salty broth to their lips, delicately spiced with something fresh but warm and laden with crunchy, toothsome vegetables.

"It's apparently a common remedy for the Feyr when they find themselves overwhelmed," Jon noted. "It certainly tastes fantastic."

"Mm," Malcolm agreed with a murmur, relaxing into his chair as they ate.

Upon finishing, they could only summon the energy to drag themselves drowsily to bed, curling up with one another. In the morning, they woke with soft kisses and caresses; Jon climbed on top of Malcolm and fucked him slowly, the pleasant lull rewarding them with a powerful, full-body orgasm that left them satiated and free of the ache.


End file.
